


Ghost of  a whisper

by becausenothingelsematters



Category: BBC Sherlock, MorMor - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:22:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becausenothingelsematters/pseuds/becausenothingelsematters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian finally finds Jim after all these years of him being dead. be careful what you wish for Moran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost of  a whisper

**Author's Note:**

> Little thing i'm just starting off an random idea. *runs and hides*

It was next to nothing, a whisper of a rumour from a coward who would sell anybody out for the right amount of cash, but it was something. It had been two and a half years, and whether or not it was true, it was something, this time maybe, just maybe he’d be following something somewhere, instead of heading straight for a dead end a night full of whiskey and heroin. So he waited impatiently in a taxi that was driving too slowly; the driver didn’t understand the force running through his mind, the panic, excitement and terror that ebbed into his every inch yet all Sebastian could do was dig his nails into his hand, drawing the blood he’d ruined over time to the surface to suppress the urge of killing him here and now. Turning his head to the side he watched the world spin by, a world that turned from bricks and metal to a luscious green in a matter of hours. The car turned into the drive, the miles long drive way that led to a private hospital, mental facility. One that wasn’t open to the public, one that was only known by the people who work there. The green turned to gray as the life of the world drained into a ...

 

_Prison, they’ve kept him in a fucking prison. They’ll pay Jim, just you fucking wait, I’ll make it up to, I’ll make every last one of them burn._

 

The cab pulled up the gates, where the man met an untimely death. It’s easy to hide the sound of a bullet if you know how, and Sebastian Moran knew exactly what he was doing. Yet he couldn’t keep the shakes from forming in his hands, the panic running through him, yet the pull to see Jim, was something he had never learnt to let go of, the thought of seeing him; alive was ecstasy to Sebastian, and seeing him, actually seeing him would be what most people call heaven. He lied his way through the doors and security, the psychology of people was easy, he’d learnt everything he knew from Jim.

 

“Room 201 sir, top floor.” 

 

“perfect; thank you.”

 

The common man image wasn’t one he appreciated, he had to tidy himself up to look presentable, he had to shave, he had to this and that and other things. All the things Jim made him do when he was still alive. Making his way through the corridor he counted the doors, _197...198...199...200...201_. He stopped, frozen with the realisation that there was somebody who was hidden behind this door, a man he was told referred and answered to the name of a Richard Brook. Coincidence Moran. Slowly, he turned the handle, the lock dry and unused, the door? Stiff. He pushed it to, watching as the overly bright light of the corridor flood the room that was darker than it should be. He noticed there were no windows, no extra rooms, the toilet lay mere feet away from the bed. _They’ll burn Jim, just you fucking wait._

 

His eyes scanned the room that seemed empty, his heart dropping until they found a small huddle of clothing against the corner on the bed, knees drawn the chest, head hidden away. It wasn’t Jim, he was to small, to meek everything about this man wasn’t Jim but he had to know, he had to see for definite if it was Jim or not. This was his last chance, the ghost of a whisper that kept him going.

 

“Jim?” his voice came out as a whisper as he swallowed, the man raised his head but refused to move. The eyes, the colour, the size... _shit... Jim, what have they done to you? ,/i >They were empty, a different empty from Jims. Jims eyes were empty yet filled with hate and intelligence, these were empty with hurt and abandonment. The tears burnt his eyes as he bit his lip before he closed the door, moving towards the broken man._

 

He repeated himself, “Jim?” he questioned, moving closer cautiously towards the man huddled against the wall on the few inches thick mattress. Sitting beside him on the bed, he noticed how the walls had nail marks on them, and Jims wrists had red marks all over them. _The bastards had him tied down and locked in a cage like a god damn animal._

 

“It’s... Richard. Wh-who’s Jim?” the voice was quite; almost silent and hoarse from disuse, or was it rough from screaming? It was Jim though, he could see it, it was Jim so he found himself smiling, but wiping away silent tears. It was his body, it was his face, it was Sebastians love, but it wasn’t Jim. The bullet hadn’t killed him, simply knocked him out and brought the character of Richard Brook to life.

 

“he’s... never mind Rich. I’m Sebastian. Sebastian Moran. I’ve come to take you back home.” He sat there waiting for a reply as they empty eyes searched him, looking for something to remind of him of who this man was. Richard sat there, terrified of this man but the minute his eyes laid eyes on him, the second the voice met his ears his heart lifted, his chest felt warmer. There was something so familiar about the blond he sat in front of him, he was nice enough to pretend he hadn’t noticed the tears running down the man’s cheeks.

 

“ I’ve been here for years Sir, why haven’t you come before?” The word ‘sir’ stung Sebastian right to his heart, he chuckled to shake away the pain of seeing Jim so broken. Yet the pain in Jims, no, it wasn’t Jim, in Richards voice was so blindingly obvious, biting his lip was all Sebastian could do to keep himself from breaking down. 

 

_Be careful what you wish for Moran, no one ever gets what they want. You’ve got Jim alive, but you didn’t want him sane. _

 

“Please, Sebastian. I’ll explain later Rich, but you’ve gotta come with me. I gotta get you out of this hell.” He was half way to begging as he took Richards hand in his own, standing to encourage him to leave with him. 

 

“please.” His voice broke as he saw the entirety of the damage they had done to Jim. He was covered in scars and marks, bones clearly visible beneath the skin. He had gone beyond thing, dangerously close to death. His skin was paled and weak. 

 

“Jesus what have they done to you...” he whispered, pulling Richard from the bed, forcing him to stand. 

 

The pleading in the voice of the man in front of him sparked the familiar feeling that he hated. He felt happy over the fact he made someone beg to do something for him, he was in control. Yet as he felt the atmosphere around him change, the warmth and comfort of the mans fingers locked within his own, he felt the warm feeling grow in his chest again, the familiarity of him growing stronger. He trusted this man, yet he had no idea why. He was begging to take him away from here, to look after him, to take him home. Yet he had no idea where ‘home’ was, or why it was with this other man. But he knew if he stayed here, he would never remember his life before his suicide attempt, he needed this man, and from the way he was holding his hand; the man needed him to.

 

“O-okay.”


End file.
